


Heading North

by Ael_tRlailiiu



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ael_tRlailiiu/pseuds/Ael_tRlailiiu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something I threw together fairly quickly. Emma's thoughts and dual memories on the road back to Storybrooke -- about monsters, magic, and the pirate in the passenger seat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heading North

“We leave in the morning.”

Emma found out that Hook had nicked her rum only after she tried and failed to go to sleep. She spent some time packing, then went back to bed. Memories battled back and forth across her mind's eye. It was better than thinking about how she would have been spending this night if Walsh hadn't just tried to kill her.

She remembered leaving the prison with Henry in her arms _just you and me, kid, we can do this_ but that wasn't how it had happened, not quite. Remembered looking at the car in a mix of pain and wild rage that finally came out as laughter. _You fucking asshole is this supposed to_ help _how could you do this to me._ Remembered driving across the huge empty heart of the country with nowhere to go and nothing to do when she got there. Wasted hours in diners with Help Wanted sections fished out of garbage cans and watched her money dwindle. 

In one set of memories she bought formula and diapers. In the other one, she didn't. In one, her only company was voices on the radio speaking Spanish and Hmong, then fading into static under the dingy bowl of the winter sky. In the other, she was never alone. In both, she built up a callous over the place that hurt at the memory of Neal's voice, at a glimpsed face across a small-town Wal-Mart that was never his. A distant slammed door or a shout would jolt her out of sleep for years afterward, put bars between her and the world. 

She (they) stayed in Austin for a year. She worked at a second-hand store and got paid under the table (the owner let her bring Henry in with her). She signed up for a self-defense class at the Y after the third creeper hit on her while the owner was out buying weed (Henry caught cold after cold from the other kids in the day care there). She overheard a lot of conversations about a lot of shiftless bastards. Memory after memory, some all but untouched by Regina's magic, others radically different. 

In the morning, the yellow VW rolled northward. Emma kept her eyes on the road. She thought Hook was watching her, but maybe he was just interested in how the car worked.

Yes, that was definitely it. He kept quiet, at least, outside of the occasional question from Henry.

“Are you from New York?”

“No, just visiting.”

“What did you think of it?”

“Impressive,” he settled on after a pause.

“Favorite part?”

“I didn't get to see all that much of it. Perhaps some time I'll manage a visit without anything dramatic occurring.”

Emma could not contain a snort. “Better than the last one.”

“Aye, well. Much as I appreciate you foregoing the concussion, that's not a particularly high bar, Swan.”

“I'm pretty sure you have a reading assignment due on Monday, Henry.” She turned on the radio to forestall further conversation. Henry pulled out his social studies textbook, but she could sense him storing up questions for later. This was impossible. She couldn't take him into this, not knowing what might be waiting for them. She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't leave him behind in the city, not when monsters might attack.

Motherfucking _monsters_. Connecticut fell behind them.

Hook dozed off. Emma remembered his talent for sleeping anywhere from Neverland. Now that she could allow herself more than a fleeting glance, he looked worn out. It hadn't occurred to her to wonder where or for that matter _if_ he had been sleeping in New York, or where he had stashed his ship. There's only so long you can keep going on rum and a quixotic sense of duty. She shook her head and concentrated on the traffic. Bad enough that she was going to have to use his name with Henry around; she refused to start worrying about the man.

Bad enough why? a voice in the back of her head wanted to know. People do have names.

Exactly. _People_ have names. I am not good at _people_. Exhibits A through infinity: my entire life.

Bad enough that she had the memory of sticky-hot air, the burn of rum lingering in her throat and his mouth, of the easy way he surrendered to her grip, wanting and promising.

She had not asked whether he thought about her after all in the year since then. Either answer would have been unsettling. Probably he hadn't, since he hadn't mentioned it. Didn't matter. She had enough to worry about. Nobody had asked him to show up and turn her life upside down.

That wasn't true. Apparently her parents had. If they were back—if everyone was back—then Neal was, too. Henry wouldn't remember him. That would be complicated.

That led her back to Walsh. Was this built into her life? Yet another curse? First Neal, now this. Eight months of dates and phone calls and dinners and movie nights—joke's on you, Swan! Lost a few memories, lost the important stuff, let your guard down. Next thing you know, people grow fangs. Never mind the sex; she had left him alone with _Henry_. Emma tightened her hands on the wheel against the memory of red eyes, of the heft of the pipe in her hands, heavier than a sword. She chanted a silent litany of profanities until she felt like herself again.

Miles rolled by. The faint beep of a game replaced the sound of turning pages in the back seat. Boston and then Portland fell behind them. November dusk came early. Memories dueled in the headlight beams. She had Henry with her and always had, but never found her parents. Or she had Henry (too late, too late) and them—and dragons, and ogres, and Graham's grave, and Henry pale and not breathing, entire worlds where nothing made sense, another creature's eyes looking back from her son's face.

Can't have both. Can't be both. Always a price.

Emma pulled into a rest stop and allowed herself another look at the passenger seat. Yesterday Hook had been a possibly-crazy guy with a unique sense of dress even for New York. Now, she found herself annoyed by how much she knew about him. None of it was even normal stuff, but the little stupid things you know after you've been camping for a week, like the way his hair looked in the morning after sleeping on the ground (and how it felt under her fingers), and that affronted-cat look any interaction with Regina brought out on him (and that rare and brilliant grin).

That was all a year ago, she reminded herself. A lot had happened since.

He had tried to kiss her, though.

The shadow of his eyelashes was like a damn flower petal.

_Shit._

“You okay, Mom?”

“Fine, kid.” She twisted around to look at the back seat. “Just making a plan. Things might get a little weird with this one.” Should she even consider giving Henry those memories back? He would want them—in either life he was too brave, too young, her fierce little lion. She did not know if she could do it, could give him back that understanding of pain and fear.

“They're already a little weird. Where do you meet these people?”

“Hives of scum and villainy you're too young to know about. I'm gonna head in and refuel. We'll be there in a couple hours.” Time to get on with the saving.

 


End file.
